Time is Running Out
by momijikk
Summary: I wanted freedom, bound and restricted. I tried to give you up, but I'm addicted. Now that you know I'm trapped, sense of elation, you'd never dream of breaking this fixation. You will be the death of me.
1. Track one, Lithium

[Track 1. Lithium.]

* * *

><p>This isn't about me.<p>

_Get up. On your feet, soldier. Run faster, faster, you can't get away._

This isn't about us.

_Sod off, you big lug. You took everything I had and. I won't forgive you for what you've done._

It's about the world, that vastly expanding universe, all slowly drifting away from everything, anything.

_You're just as dirty as the rest of us._

This isn't about me.

_He controls everything. He thinks he'll put the damn pieces all in place. Shut up. Let's watch him try._

You may think it is, but it's not. Italia Fascista was only one of the factors to start it all, send that ball rolling down the hill. Out of control. Faster and faster, spinning without stop. Just like the whole fucking Earth.

_Be a good dog, Italien. Loyal, unflinching, unwavering in your trust, and low as the dirt I step on._

This is about the world. Yes, the world. In all its glory, sin, drowning in cries of blood and ash. Everyone participated, no matter how big or how small that role was. Even late start America, neutral Switzerland, accused Jerusalem. Tortured, enslaved, bloody pulp Jerusalem.

But it's not about them. Us. It's about the world and what happened during that time. That lightless time.

_You are nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing._

The Great War. The Great Depression. The rise of Fascism, Communism, Civil war in Spagna. The second World War. The Great Fear in Stalinist Russia. Nazi Germany. The gathering of spies in America. Whore houses. The ghettoes, ghettoes everywhere. Even in Giappone, America.

_Silence. Don't you dare waste your breath trying to live._

The Holocaust.

_I wouldn't expect one as well-cultured as you to spit in my face. Are you sure such insolence by this point is wise?_

The Final Solution.

_Your neck is a mere twig by this point. What I wouldn't give to allow my fingers to crush it and hear the bones snap._

This is about a crime committed by the world against the world. How deceit, betrayal, love, heartbreak, allies, axis ruined the world and made it. We made the world.

_Speak when you're spoken to, hund._

But it's not about us. It's about this world we melded with our bandaged, filthy hands.

_Vermin._

And it only took a moment for the world to fall down.

* * *

><p>"I'll see you again, Italien. I'll be back, I swear it."<p>

_Don't leave me. Please._

"I love you."

_I know what happens. Please, don't go. Don't leave me. Please._

"I'll win this war, and I'll return. I promise."

_Don't go._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_You lied._

* * *

><p>The world's falling, the sky's ending. I don't know anymore. It's hard to tell through bandages, the splitting pain in my sides, head, heart. You thought the Black Plague was bad? It's a splinter compared to this.<p>

_We have received reports of Italy's surrender. That's right, Italy has surrendered to the allies. Within the week, we'll-_

The radio snaps off. Like a slap to the face. Too bad, too late. I look up, past the swollen eye, messy two week old bandages wrapped loosely around my head. Ignoring the twinges in my neck. If he wasn't so damn careful with his gloves all the time, all the fucking time, maybe he'd leave fingerprints. He's too careful.

It's hard to look in general. He sits at his desk, glaring at that radio. He might throw it to the wall, ground, at me. No, not the last one. Too petty. He's silent, hand on his chin. Not looking.

My hands are bound behind my back.

He swears under his breath, rubs his forehead. Slowly. Leather gloves trailing along his skin. Hiding the red. Sexy. It's there and I've lost all over again. No time like now to restart. For the seven hundred, fifty-ninth time. His hands pause, stay against his forehead. "I thought I told you to do your best. To succeed. I was counting on you."

Another slap to the face. I shift my feet against the binds, lean against the wall. I'm not weak. A puppet to do as I'm told, to be kicked around the floor and tied by the strings. Something warm and wet drips down my face. He looks up, finally, and smirks. It's not him. It is.

"No matter. Your sister cannot take you. We'll not succumb so easily as her."

He stands up, walks over. I flinch back into the wall, turning away. The twinges in my neck are nothing, not there. This isn't happening. He crouches down, grabs my chin and forces me to meet his eyes. Blue, so clouded and cold. Like ice. He reeks of war, death. Alcohol, tobacco. Smoke. He smokes like a chimney, leaves no traces. Not even burnt flesh.

I miss it. I've lost again.

His expression twists. Hideous. My legs twitch, stay still. I'd spit in his face if my mouth would work. Shout. Sono pronto alla morte or what the fuck ever. I can't. I want to spit in his stupid face.

I won. Tally it up, over all I still lose. He leans in, closer, and I lean back. Gulp. He growls. "I will still be here. Don't try to run."

Deep. His breath ghosts over my face. Smooth. Alcohol, smoke, blood, vomit. No amount of water can soothe that. No, please, mercy. Pietà. Kiss me. I lose.

"Vermin."

He moves, punches me across my face. Right to the cheek bone. He doesn't know, he can't. He does. He brushes off his hands, stands and leaves. Clicking the door lock behind him. My hands are bound behind my back. My feet tied and twinging. Not trembling. The warm wet spilling down my face increases, reaches my chin and slips down to my bruised neck. Each drop a weight of lead, of burnt bones and ashes.

I don't want this. I do. My neck throbs in time with my heart, trying to jump out my ribcage and break everything more.

The wall digs into my back the more I lean against it. Nothing else in my head than the area around me. The orders barked that I can hear, no one's in the room. I'm low as the floor, as the dirt and blood and filth around me. There's nothing. My lips twitch, refuse to move anymore. No spit, smile, cheeks, heat. No, stop. Too many losses already.

My hands are bound behind my back. And he's right.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Um. Welcome to the world of Axis Victorious. Feel free to take a look around.


	2. Track two, Angels

[Track 2. Angels.]

* * *

><p>He is wonderful and kind. Loving and sweet. Shy and lovely. Everything I would have dreamed him to be and more. He is perfect.<p>

That is why he is dead.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Italien, pay attention."

"Huh?"

I look up. At him. Oh, right. This again. I nod, face back forward. Watch the men goose step by. They look like those exotic birds. The ones with their colourful feathers all splayed. Open. Spread out for someone to.

Wait. What are we doing again?

"Italien."

He hisses in my ear. I gulp, nod. Okay. Focus. These men are Germany's men. Germany's children. Il Duce and Germany's boss watch from the stage. Higher up, further away than us. Germany stands straight. Back with a pole shoved up. No, can't be like that. I try to stand the same. To mimic his seriousness. Sorella says a war is coming. That we have to be prepared.

That's where Il Duce comes in.

"Hey, Germany."

"Hush, Italien. A good soldier is quiet in the ranks until ordered otherwise."

What a load. He scowls, jaw set. Seen that look before. Back when he found me in that crate. When we were supposed to be enemies.

What. A fucking. Joke.

The marching halts. Germany nudges me with his elbow. We both turn, to the right, not left. Face Il Duce and Germany's boss. Il Duce's eyes are especially empty. Piercing. Straight down at me, as if I'm missing some big important picture here. Usually am, too. Just saying. Germany's boss hides well, but I can still see the fear coming off him.

"Now we salute. You remember which arm, ja?"

Of course. Business as usual. I raise my arm, the right one. The correct choice. Shout out that word, the one in the harshest tongue ever imaginable. Germany follows my lead, so do the mass of soldiers behind us.

Heil. Long live the saviours. Be their path to glory a short, straight and true one. Amen.

Germany's boss nods. Il Duce claps. Turns away and walks off with Germany's boss. I drop my arm. Germany turns to the soldiers, barks out some orders. Always with the barking. Treats us all like tameable mutts, yet he's the one with the howl.

He glances at me. Faces forward again, hands behind his back. "Your boss seems to have enjoyed the presentation our Führer put on for him."

I nod. Force a smile on my face. "Il Duce was very interested in Germany's troops. He thought maybe if ours got the same treatment, maybe they'd be able to be half as good as yours."

Novel concept. My children will cry out in agony. Il Duce does not have the ears, but I can hear it already. Sorella can, too. Probably louder than I can. Germany takes a deep breath in, lets it out slowly. "You said 'maybe' in that sentence twice."

"You're so silly, Germany."

No he's not. I laugh anyway. Germany glances over his shoulder. To where Il Duce and his boss disappeared to. The soldiers have dispersed by now. I lean over, try to get into his sight.

"Germany?"

"Italien. You and I may soon become allies."

A concept he and I won't be fond of. Probably. Sorella will certainly object. Don't know about Prussia, though Lady Austria might have the same opinion as sorella. It's better to be silent than to be heard. I force another smile, allow my body the wiggle it's been itching for. "Really? You think? So we wouldn't be enemies this time around?"

"I'm afraid not." He shakes his head. Hah, told myself so. Figures. I broaden my smile into a grin. Just to keep it up. He regards me for a moment with those cold blue eyes. The same as unclouded ice. "When the time comes, I expect you to be a reliable ally. No slacking off on your training. Do you understand me, Italien?"

"Sir, yes sir."

I salute. With the left, of course. Not the heil. Because Il Duce and sorella and he and everyone else expects it. I'm a good boy. Let them keep thinking that. I'm absolutely no threat. I deserve it.

He nods once, rolls his eyes and turns away. Walks off towards the other end of the grounds. I let my hand drop. Wait until he's far enough. Then, and only then, I cut the happy as fuck act. Look up to the sky, above the trees. A happy, bright blue. Similar, but not the same. Not as cold.

We're doing this for you, Nonno. All of it. Just wait. You'll see. I'm not such a failure after all. Not with this. We'll rebuild your empire, make it stronger. Just wait.

Holy Roman Empire. I close my eyes, pick out the tune from that day. A victorious march with lilts of chirping birds. They added to the mood. I open my eyes again, stare up into that clear, endless blue. "Wouldn't you think? Sacro Romano Impero."

How powerful would you be if Francia didn't strike you down? How old would you look? Your kingdom would be a fair size. Not the same as Nonno, but the same all the while.

Your grave is unmarked. I'll still sing if you'd have me.

"Italia." Il Duce. I jump, whirl around to face him with a smile at the ready. It's been easy since the start. He grabs my arm, pulls me along. "We must be getting back home. Much to discuss."

"Sì."

I glance back. Only Germany's boss is there. Il Duce tugs harder on my arm, I stumble and whine. No Prussia. No Lady Austria. No Germany. We return home without a proper goodbye. All the way.

Travel for humans sure is slow. Always been. Doesn't really matter, though. Everything passes faster when you've been living for as long as I have.

"You back already, fratello?" Sorella greets us with a huff. I smile bright again, nod. Il Duce passes us without a word. Much to discuss, as in politics. I don't wanna. Sorella glances off to the side, crosses her arms under her chest. "You're late. Why did you have to go to the potato's place, anyway?"

Right, we're not there anymore. I don't have to use his language. I point after Il Duce. "He said he wanted to see Germany's troops and Germany's boss-"

"He has a name." Il Duce stares at us from his office doorway. I flinch, whimper. Maybe Germany is right. About one thing. Sorella glares at Il Duce, turns to face him. Il Duce's expression stays the same, neutral. "Romana, don't give me that look. You knew what would happen. And look how much stronger you've become. Your fratello is much less of a crying weakling now."

"Shut up." She rolls her eyes. "My fratello's always been an idiot, there's no changing that. But you want us to ally ourselves with that potato fucker? That's where I draw the line."

She turns her glare back at me. Seen that look before, too. As if I'm supposed to be able to help. But I don't know what she expects me to say, much less think. She knows about Germany. About being friends. About Sacro Romano Impero. Of course. I don't want to even begin about that, be on the opposite side of famiglia. Il Duce takes a book off the shelf, studies it a moment. "Yes. It does seem that there are some things, no matter how hard one tries, that refuse to be changed at all. Isn't that so, Italia?"

He throws the book, right at me. Sorella's in the way. I tackle her out of the way, we both crash land on the floor. Ow. Il Duce strings curses, at me. I think. Sorella shoves me off and stands up. Shouts right back. "What the hell? A book?"

"The only reason we're going to even think about becoming allies is because of him and his sick obsession."

"Didn't I tell you to shut up already?"

An obsession. Is that what he's going to call it? Sorella and Il Duce keep shouting, right in each other's faces. I don't care. It's finally getting to me. I stand up, leave them to argue. Go to my room and sit down on my bed.

I don't even have a picture of him. How would Il Duce know? Sorella doesn't say anything about it.

The telephone lines don't go that far. Not to my knowledge. And I wouldn't show up unannounced.

Il Duce is wrong.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

He loves me. It's wonderful. He loves me. I'm beautiful. He loves me. We'll see each other again someday soon. He loves me. I'll wait for him forever if I have to. He loves me.

He is dead.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The book Il Duce threw at me was a German language book. It's in my room, on my desk. Il Duce doesn't believe that I already know German, tells me to study up. Study hard. We can't let them think they can whisper secrets behind our backs.

Doesn't matter. Il Duce won't listen.

Sorella opens the door to my room. Comes in, sits down on my bed. Head angled down. I sit up and put the book to the side, scoot a bit closer. "Sorella? Are you okay?"

"You didn't cry."

She doesn't look up. My head tilts over my shoulder, I raise an eyebrow at her. "What are you talking about."

"When il bastardo threw that at you." She motions over to the German book. "You didn't cry. Like you normally do."

I shrug. Stare down at my feet, tug at my toes. "Is that a problem?"

"He can't be right."

She's one to talk. I frown, glance back over to her. "You're not making any sense, sorella."

She slams her hands down on the bed. Turns to me, eyes narrowed. "You didn't cry, when normally the first thing you do when threatened is start bawling like the pathetic little baby you are. And this time you didn't even squeeze out a whimper. Just a flinch. He can't be right, Veneziano. You can't be getting stronger, not because of him."

Uh oh. I open my mouth, she punches my arm. A yelp comes out instead of whatever I had in mind. "Sorella, that hurt-"

"You are not allowed to be the stronger one." She gets up off the bed, jabs a finger right in my face. "All right? You are not fucking stronger."

She turns, leaves my room. I rub my arm where she hit me. Glance back over to the book.

Cozy up to Germany. He'll talk about something. Il Duce has his focus on Germany's boss. Makes sense. To him. Not sure Germany would be so open to having me for a companion. Didn't seem to like it last time, or even recently. I take a deep breath, let it out in a rush.

Between sorella and I, Il Duce is stuck. Can't choose the rock, can't choose the hard place.

I leave. Wind up at Germany's house, where my feet directed me. Looks like he is the only one. Germany allows me to come in, let's me sit inside his office while he works. Filing paperwork. Or something. I don't watch. I lean back in the chair, stare up at the ceiling. Through the ceiling.

One spot, two spots. Now they're gone. All in my head. Germany would never allow his ceiling to get a speck of dust on it, much less any ugly stains.

"Italien, something on your mind?"

Germany's there. Leaning down a bit into my view. His turn, huh? I choose the grin automatically, shake my head. Just keep thinking there's nothing going on in this stupid little head. Not like it'll matter in the end. He frowns, it stays there perpetually if he's not scowling. Similar to someone I knew such a long time ago. Worlds different at the same time.

"All right. I'm. Sorry about the other day."

"Ve? What do you mean?"

"I was rather strict and very terse with you the last time we were together. I didn't mean to be. I just. The Führer."

Oh. I get it. I think. I nod, reach out and pat his arm. Keep smiling while I stand up. "It's all right. I didn't mind, it was fun seeing how Germany's troops were. So well mannered and obedient."

"Ah. Danke."

He nods. Cheeks all flushed with colour. Suits him. I grin and giggle, rest my hands behind my head. "Welcome. Hey, Germany. Do you think we're friends?"

"What?"

He stares at me. Eyebrows all knit up. How to put this. I turn on my toes, walk out of his office. Almost the same as trying to explain fun to sorella. He follows after me. Outside, where we can see the sky. I can do it. "Friends. Because I think of you as a very close friend to me. Do you think of me as a friend?"

"I've. Never really had a friend before, to be honest."

"Che? No way, Germany has to have tons of friends. Germany's such a fun guy, your people can be friends."

He shakes his head. Gaze trained on the grass beneath his boots. "No. I couldn't be so audacious. And I haven't been around that long. Any friends I might have would be more of my predecessor's friend or schwester's friends than my own."

My head flops over to the side. I poke Germany's arm. "How old are you?"

"Well." He scratches his cheek with a finger. Licks his lips. "I think it's been nearly two hundred years since I became conscious of the fact that I was who I am, from what I can remember."

"Only two hundred?" My jaw drops. He's just a child. And yet he's bigger than I am. Must have grown up so fast. As America did, or so I heard. He nods. I offer him a sympathy smile. I save those. "It's most likely better than living for a really long time, like a lot of us have. And you're so big and strong in so short amount of time."

"How old are you, exactly, Italien?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. I close my eyes, brighten my smile. "It depends on which age you're asking for. If you're asking about how long I've been Italia, it hasn't really been that long because of the struggle sorella and I had in order to unify."

"I'll ask again. How long have you been around, been alive? You speak much differently than a child would."

"So do you." I stick my tongue out at him. He rolls his shoulders back, eyes glancing up to the skies. Hah. His gaze goes straight back to me. I glance away with my eyes only, brush a stray hair behind my ear. "I've seen this world for a thousand something years. Not really keeping track anymore."

"You're over a thousand."

His expression flat lines. I puff out my cheeks and face him head on, hands on my hips. "Yes, I am. And my country is young as a whole, because for a long time I was a piece of meat. Divided all up and it wasn't any fun. While your land is old, much older than your young flesh."

Whoops. Uh. I don't think it's older than me, but who knows by this point? China's older, but no one's older than China. Germany nods, lets out a short breath. "Indeed. We're both rather misfit for representing our respective countries, are we not?"

"I'm proud to be Italia."

I don't know about Germany, but I wouldn't give up on my people. Not even if the worst happened. It already did. Germany smiles, just a little, and shrugs. Maybe we could try swapping sometime. He's right, it might make more sense. But I'm no stoic German.

I'm that silly boy who loves pasta and pizza and no one gives even the slightest damn. "Does that mean you think of me as a friend?"

"Why are you so insistent on this point?"

Germany frowns at me. His captain voice, the one he uses for his troops, now infecting his speech. Do I really have to try and explain this again? Honestly, Germans. I keep up the smile, put both hands behind my back. "I just told you. I think of you as a friend. And it'd be nice to know you think the same."

He's the only one I've got. Might as well make it count. He looks up to the sky, sticks his hands in his pants pockets. Smiles that tiny, truthful smile again. "I'm also proud to be who I am."

"You mean Germany?"

He nods. Removes one of his hands from his pockets, lifts it up with the pinkie extended. I grin in return, hold up my pinkie to mimic him. He takes mine with his, shakes as if it were a handshake. "Then it's settled. We're friends."

I have to swallow my heart back down. But I'm grinning and I don't even have to think about it. "Sì. That means, when you're in trouble, I'll come save you. And if I'm in a pinch, you'll come help me, right?"

"Ja, I will."

Friends. Has a nice ring to it. Il Duce will throw another book at me. Perhaps Machiavelli's work. Or maybe a potted plant this time. Punishment for doing what I was told. Germany pulls his hand back, searches through one of the pockets on his coat. Removes a necklace with a cross on it. Not a Catholic cross. Same as the one he wears, that Prussia wears.

"In commemoration of our friendship."

He hands it to me. I accept it. Sacro Romano Impero could have had one, too. His grandfather as well. I hold it close to my chest, force the cheery smile on my face. Better than the alternative. "Thank you, Germany. Ve, what should I give you?"

Italian glass might be nice, but I don't have some on me. And he already wears a necklace. He puts both hands on my shoulders, stares straight into my eyes. "You don't have to give me anything. I just. Wanted you to have it."

"But still."

"Normally, these are only given to those who have stood above the rest in battle and shown great feats. It's an honour to receive one, and I simply thought it would be nice for the moment. That is all."

"But Germany."

He hesitates. Maybe it's the position. Take advantage. No, I won't. I raise myself up on my toes and press a kiss to each of his cheeks. His face turns much darker than the last colour. I grin, drop back down on my feet.

"Now we're even. Sì?"

"Erm. I suppose so."

Just a greeting. Spagna and Francia do it all the time. Francia especially with Inghilterra. Germany releases my shoulders, takes a step back. Scratching his cheek again.

"Th-Thank you, Italien."

"Prego."

I laugh and also step back. Give a wave, turn on my heel and trot back home. Where sorella and Il Duce wait. I take a moment to watch the sky, how the clouds roll past in the wind at a snail pace. If there were more interesting shapes, I'd cloud watch more often. All I see is the same thing, over and over.

"Sacro Romano Impero. Do you regret that kiss? Now that you probably know."

My fingers find their way up to my lips. Metal meets skin. Metal? I look down at the cross in my hand. From Germany. My friend. I pull it on over my head, let the string dangle it down over my chest. Right on top of my sternum. A heavy weight. I refuse to take it off.

Right. Home. I arrive at the door, pause before opening. Sorella and Il Duce will call me idiota, try to take this away. I settle the cross beneath my shirt and my coat. Safe beside my skin. Closer. I train on my usual smile, open the door and walk inside.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"I'm home, sorella. I was visiting Germany, he said-"

She smacks me in the forehead with her palm. "You went back to that potato fucker's place? What the hell?"

"Sorella, don't hit."

"Focus, idiota."

There it is. I rub my forehead, frown. "We're friends now. Because we're allies, you know?"

"No, I don't know. The last I heard, Il Duce and our people didn't like or trust those sneaky bastardi. Just. What the hell, Veneziano?"

I bite my lip, rub one of my toes into the floor. I know that. I can hear my children as well as she can. But something inside me says it doesn't matter. Don't listen to that. Il Duce bursts through the office door, throws down a stack of paperwork. Sorella and I both jump. He looks up at us, eyes narrowed. "Are you responsible for this?"

"For what?"

He swipes up the papers, stomps over. Shoves them into my face. "This. They're calling it the 'Iron Alliance'. It's ridiculous."

Funny choice of words. I take the papers, skim through them. "Why is it ridiculous?"

Sorella rolls her eyes. Il Duce grabs the papers again and keeps his glare on me. "The fine print, you insufferable idiota. If Germany goes to war, we have to back him up. Our troops are unprepared for any kind of combat right now. Any battle we're forced into, we won't be able to win."

Unless we have Germany to back us up. Which we might. Sorella smacks my shoulder. "Don't even think about it. Like hell we'd allow ourselves to be ordered around by a bunch of fat sausages."

"You were supposed to get close to him, not become his friend." Il Duce throws the papers in my face. Turns around, goes back to his office. "Don't think I can't see you falling, Italia. If it ever comes to that, we will not hesitate to put Romana in charge."

He slams the door. I bite my lip harder, crouch down to pick up all those dropped papers. Sorella stares down at me. Not helping. "What did he mean by that? What have you done now?"

My hands shake so much. I get every single piece of paper, stand back up. "I better. Um. File these."

"Hey, don't leave me without answering my question. What the fuck was he talking about?"

"N-Non lo so. I really, really don't."

Liar. She narrows her eyes, steps back. Hands resting on her hips. "Fine. Remember how to file paperwork?"

I nod. She shrugs and walks off. To her room. She doesn't visit Spagna that often. Not anymore. Not since he's sick and struggling to stay out of the red. She doesn't know. She can't. I take the papers into the spare office, close the door behind me. Place them on the desk and hold my head in my hands.

He's wrong. Can't be right. There's no way. To do so would mean betrayal. To me. To my children. To sorella, and to him. To Sacro Romano Impero.

I can't betray him. Not ever. I said I'd wait. With sweets. That's what I'll do. No, Il Duce has to be wrong. About this, there's no way. Not a single, plausible way.

And yet there's only one way to be sure.

I give it a while. Until Germany announces the march on Polonia. My friend. Doesn't matter. This march means war. Just as sorella said. Il Duce and Germany's boss and Prussia and Lady Austria will all be there. Don't know where Ungheria lies in all this. Sorella opted out to stay home. Train the troops.

She might sneak off to see Spagna. Never will know. It's pulling teeth with her, as it is with me.

The crowd of soldiers is huge. All of them are taller than me. Kind of ironic, really. Children and women are about, too. Saying their goodbyes, wishing good luck, spending last moments with these soldiers. Everyone shoves me around, I keep having to side step around them. Looking for Lady Austria and Prussia. Looking for Germany.

That still doesn't make Il Duce right.

A kid runs into my legs. Little boy, wearing an outfit similar to the soldiers. He stares up at me, with soft brown eyes. Dark brown hair under a cap. I crouch down, careful of the picnic basket in my hands, offer him a smile. "Excuse me, do you know where the generals are? Or." I think about it for a moment. These soldiers are tall, but. "Or a really, really tall guy. Blonde, with eyes like clear ice. He should be with a really nice woman, with white hair and red eyes, and."

The kid points off in the direction I was heading. Stone faced. I grin, pat him on the head.

"Grazie. You're a very big help."

He nods, dashes off and is lost to the crowd. I stand back up, keep looking around. A voice cackles above the crowd, very close. "Bruderlein, I think I just spotted our cutie for the evening. Oii, Italien. Over here."

Prussia, finally. I have to squeeze in between two troops to get through to a clearing. Make sure the basket in my hands is all right. "Prussia? Germany?"

Yes, that's them. Germany comes over, helps me through the two soldiers. "There you are, Italien. We were starting to worry you wouldn't make it today."

"Aw, bruderlein, you were the only one who was worried." Prussia shoves Germany out of the way, wraps an arm around my shoulders. Winks at me. "How've you been, cutie? Never had a doubt you'd make it on time."

I giggle, wink right back. "Bene, grazie. How've you been, Prussia?"

She waves her free hand in front of us to illustrate. "Oh, you know. Got an overbearing little bruder who thinks I'm slacking off even when my awesomeness is glistening with sweat from working the troops, an ice queen who thinks her opinions are of the highest priority and matter much more than my completely flawed ones, a friend who's sick and a friend who's gonna be mad at me real soon, a cutie like you on my arm, and a war to begin."

That last one makes me cringe. I laugh through it. "Sounds pretty busy."

"Not just busy, awesome. You can be my personal cheering-up squad if you like. Just you. What d'ya say?"

"Schwester."

Germany breaks in. Frowning at Prussia. I'd have said yes if he didn't. Sex would probably be amazing. She sticks her tongue out at him, huffs. "Lame, bruderlein. I don't get in your way when you're trying to score."

"That's because I'm not a frivolous flirt like you are."

"I see. You just want Italien all to yourself. Well too bad, he's mine. I claimed him first."

"Preußen."

Germany growls, cheeks tinged with a healthy colour. She rolls her eyes, crosses her arms under her chest. She may not have the largest breast size that she claims to have, but that doesn't make her any less beautiful. Lady Austria steps up, glances over to the stage area, higher than the rest.

"It's almost time. Prussia, Germany, let's go."

"Yeah, yeah, ice queen. I'm coming."

Prussia grabs me in close again, presses her lips to my cheek. Lets go, walks off with Lady Austria. Waves to me. I wave in return. Lady Austria doesn't cast a glance back at all. Please, don't be mad at me. Germany clears his throat, points to the basket in my hands. "What is that for?"

"Ve?" I hold it up a bit higher. He nods. I smile, let it back down carefully. "For afterward. I thought we could have a picnic or something."

"Italien. Do you not understand the concept of war?"

I do. But. I frown, hunching up my shoulders. "You don't want to have a picnic with me?"

"It's not that." He heaves out a breath, rubs the back of his neck. Glances to where our bosses are standing. "This is a time of battles. Of victory and death. Hardly the time for a picnic."

Maybe his boss has the same suspicion as Il Duce. I shake my head. "No, it's the perfect time. To have something simple and happy before things get sad and hard."

Before things go to shit. He stares at me for a moment. Grabs my arm. "Come, Italien. We must see the troops off."

I nod, and let him lead me over. The troops leave their loved ones, come to order all in neat lines. Rows of faces I don't know. Germany might. He is proud to be who he is. His boss gives a speech, something about doing their best. Bringing back the respect and glory Germany deserves to have. I'm not really listening.

Il Duce doesn't take his eyes off me. Germany grips my arm tight. I wince, don't say anything.

He lets go. Steps up to where his boss stands. Barks out the orders. Company right. Forward march.

They start off, boots stomping on the stones below. A fanfare ringing through the air, pops and booms from celebratory shots. Same atmosphere, without the birds. Not the same song. Germany grabs my arm again, in the same place. Pulls me away, back down with Prussia and Lady Austria.

Make sure to change socks and underwear. Don't catch a cold, redress after napping. Come back safe and sound.

"Italien, are you all right?"

"Enjoy the celebration. Come on, smile."

I hate war.

"Man, that was great. Real enough to get the blood boiling and ready for battle."

Prussia cackles, hands clenched into fists. Il Duce is gone, nowhere I can see. Troops pour out, the fanfare playing strong. Germany releases my arm, pats my shoulder. Heavy handed. "They have quite a ways to go yet, schwester, before they reach their destination."

"I get it, I'm gone." She swipes up Lady Austria's hand, dashes off. "Let's go, they'll get all the good battles first."

"Unhand me this instant."

They disappear into the marching troops. Germany turns to me, expression blank. Neutral. "Are you all right?"

I nod, plaster that same smile back on my face. Hold up the basket. "Let's go eat now. Are you hungry? I made good yummy things for us both."

A small smile. I have to swallow down my heart again. He nods, holds out his hand. "Danke, Italien. Let me carry that."

It's all right, I can do it. I'm not weak. The words stick. I hand him the basket, follow him up to a hill. We sit, enjoy the food. The grey sky with no blue, no sun. The fanfare and cheering fading to quiet.

I don't know when, but tears slip down my cheeks and I've lost it. Germany pulls me over, holds me against his chest.

Il Duce is wrong. Has to be wrong.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"Give up on that bastardo." Sorella sits next to me. Her dress as poofy and frilly as mine. Spagna came over to visit with Lady Austria and Ungheria. Sorella punches my arm. "I mean it. He's a filthy liar and a potato meat head. You'd do better without him."

But. I shake my head, wring my hands together. A soft white handkerchief gets in the way. "No. I won't. Sacro Romano Impero. He meant it. He'll come back, and then we can. We'll be."

Sorella snorts, shakes her head. Very un-lady like. Huffs out a breath. "Seriously. If you keep believing that, you're gonna get your heart broken. And then I'm gonna have to put up with your whining and crying and you're just pathetic."

I gulp, bite my lip. I won't cry, not in front of sorella. "He wouldn't. Not ever. You'll see. Sacro Romano Impero is so kind and he's been there for me for such a long time, always, and when he comes back we can-"

"You can what?" Sorella stands up, smacks me on the head. Yanks, pulls off my head scarf. "Go on, tell me. I'd like to know, because the last I checked, we didn't like your precious Sacro Romano Impero. No way will anyone stand for being united with that bastardo."

"S-Sorella-"

"And past that, he won't love you for long. You know that as well as I do. He's Protestant, we're Christians. And you may have most everyone else fooled, but you're male, and he's male, and it's a sin."

She pulls my hair, shoves me back. Huffs, turns and flounces off. Over to the house. I curl up and raise my arms over my head. Bite my lip harder as the wet squeezes its way out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

No. Sacro Romano Impero loves me. We'll make it work. He'll come back for me, he'll still love me, our differences don't matter. It's love. I love Sacro Romano Impero. We can.

Sorella is right. He wouldn't accept me. Not as I am. Why was I made to be this abomination?

Iddio, why couldn't I have been born a girl?

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

He left me. Never came back. He is dead. Will never come back. I can no longer wait for him. The sweets are rotten. He is dead and gone and I will never see him again.

I hate this smile that makes my heart leap.


End file.
